Christmas at Bravo Ridge

He tried to look innocent. “I wasn’t picking on Bob.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

He put up both hands, a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll never say another damn word about Bob.”

“Bob knows what I do for a living. He’s not the least judgmental—unlike some people I could mention.”

Matt huffed a little. “I’m not judgmental.” Beneath the huffing, he was hurt. She could tell.

And she felt suddenly sorry. Matt Bravo was a great guy, really. A fine father, who doted on their little girl. And over the years, strangely enough, he’d practically become Corrine’s best friend. She shouldn’t be calling him judgmental—even if he sometimes was.

Time to change the subject. “Want some?” She tipped her head at the thicket of green bottles. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Why not?” He was already shrugging out of his pricey leather coat.

She had half a tray of unused wineglasses. She grabbed one and chose a bottle at random, turning it to read the label. “A little merlot?”

He dropped into a wing chair across the coffee table from her. “Sounds good to me.”

She poured, passed him the glass and then poured one for herself. “To our amazing, beautiful, brilliant daughter.”

He leaned toward her so he could touch his glass to hers. Then he sat back. They both sipped. He gave a nod of approval. “Not bad.”

“And the price is right.”

He frowned at the tray of torn bread and the pitcher of water on another table nearby. “Wait. I get it. A wine tasting.”

She nodded. “It went well, thank you. There were six of us, including me.” She named off three of her employees and a couple of longtime friends from school. Then she raised her glass again. “I’m always looking for good values for the bar, and a few of these are pretty nice.” Matt worked at BravoCorp, the family business. She worked in her family’s business, too. Her bar, Armadillo Rose, was a San Antonio landmark. It had belonged to her mother before her and before that, to her grandmother.

Looking totally satisfied with himself, he settled deeper into the chair and sipped more wine.

“Just make yourself at home.” She raised her glass again.

“I always do. Got anything to munch on around here—other than chunks of dry bread, I mean?”

“A few cold appetizers.”

“Hand ’em over.”

She passed him the tray.

He chose a cracker topped with sun-dried tomatoes and mozzarella and popped it in his mouth, reaching out to grab the tray before she could pull it away. “I’ll keep that.” He set the tray on the side table by his chair, grabbed two more crackers and ate them, watching her as he chewed.

With a distant smile, she turned her face to the fire and considered whether or not to bring up his mother a second time.

After a moment or two, he demanded, “What?”

She met his eyes again. “It’s your mom. I’m worried about her. She came in the Rose last night.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“She didn’t say. She sat at the end of the bar and nursed a martini. For more than three hours.”

He couldn’t have looked more surprised if she’d bopped him on the head with the merlot bottle. “Three hours. You’re kidding me.”

“No.” Armadillo Rose had live music on the weekends. Rock and hard country. It catered to a young, mostly blue-collar, party crowd. Aleta Bravo was in her mid-fifties, still slim and good-looking. She wore designer clothes and she had a certain air about her, one of money and privilege. Armadillo Rose just wasn’t her kind of place. “She seemed…I don’t know. Lost, I guess. I sat with her every time I could catch a few minutes. She told me how much she appreciated me and how much she loves Kira…”

He held out his glass for more wine. “My dad won’t leave her alone,” he said as she poured. “He’s always showing up at the ranch, working every angle to get her to come back to him.”

“She seemed…so sad last night.”

His expression was almost tender. “You were keeping an eye on her.”

“Of course.”

“You’re a good woman, Corrie.” The look in his eyes had her throat clutching.

She glanced away. And then she felt silly and made herself face him again. “She, um, she didn’t cry or anything. But the place was packed and loud and she would watch everyone dancing and having a good time with this expression that was trying so hard to be bright and happy but didn’t quite make it.”

“It’s a tough time for her.”

“Matt, your dad is not my favorite person. Still, it’s so painfully obvious she’s in love with him and always will be. I don’t get why she doesn’t just go back to him.”

“Hey. Don’t ask me. I don’t get it either.”

“It’s been more than a month since she walked out on him.” In late September, Aleta had left the big house in Olmos Park where she’d lived with Davis for as long as Corrine had known them. Matt’s parents had always kept a suite at Bravo Ridge. Aleta was now staying there. Corrine shook her head. “And it’s not like what he did all those years ago was news to her.” Corrine and Matt had discussed this before. Matt had confided that his mother had already known about his father’s affair. More than two decades ago, right after it happened, Davis had confessed everything.

Matt said, “But she didn’t know that the woman he’d slept with was Luz Cabrera—or that there was a baby.” The baby, now in her twenties, was named Elena. Matt and his siblings had learned they had a half-sister around the same time their mother left their father. And there was more.

A lot more. Matt’s brother Luke had recently married Mercy Cabrera, who was Elena’s adoptive sister. It was all beyond complicated. Especially when you added in the fact that Luz Cabrera just happened to be the wife of the Bravos’ longtime sworn enemy, Javier Cabrera.

Corrine said, “I still don’t get it. Your dad never knew that Luz had his kid, so why is he any more to blame now than he ever was?”

“But that’s just it,” Matt declared, as if that explained anything.

“What’s it?”

“My dad claims Luz never told him about Elena. I don’t think my mom believes him. And it was always a big deal between them, the whole total honesty thing.”

Corrine poured herself more wine. “So you think maybe your dad actually knew the whole time that he had another daughter?”

“No, I don’t think he did.”

“But you’re not sure?”